Treat Me Like Your Mother
by Momosportif
Summary: WB/M story from dA. Marco is conflicted about what to call Pops in the throes of love, but an unexpected visitor might be just what they need to solve this unexpected problem. General goofyness and fluff in WBM-sized quantities. Characters belong Oda.


A/N: Wanted to help out the WBM population of ...this is also up on dA...I couldn't find anything in the guidelines about having stories up on multiple sites, but if there's some rule I missed, do tell me XD Like pretty much all our WBM stories, this was written for Nire-chan of dA. *heart*

Also, the title comes from a song by the Dead Weather by the same name. It has nothing to do with the story. It was just taking up my brain space at the time. To that end, I own neither the Dead Weather nor One Piece. Enjoy.

* * *

"Pops! Pops, stop!"

"Marco, what's wrong?" Whitebeard stiffened instantly, propping himself up on one elbow and bringing his thin brows together in a knot of intense worry. He lifted his giant hand from the small body, leaving it to hover in inquietude over the partially undressed first division commander.

In a fraction of a second all the qualms and crises of conscience that had plagued Whitebeard when he and Marco first began to blur the lines between father and son came rushing back with three times the force. "Have I hurt-"

"Pops- what am I supposed to say?"

Concern swiftly shifted to confusion as Marco, clearly unphased by Whitebeard's distress, calmly reclaimed the still hesitating hand, taking hold of the thumb and pulling it back to rest on his bare chest.

"_What_?"

"I mean what am I supposed to _say_, Pops? What name?" Whitebeard relaxed again, reassured that nothing of great consequence had gone awry, and obligingly resumed stroking all of his second-in-command that his fingers could reach, still every bit as befuddled as he had been moments before.

Confusion and befuddlement were all par for the course though. Marco could be a very confusing and befuddling creature when he chose to be. As far as Whitebeard was concerned, it just made him all the more charming.

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about, Marco."

As predicted, this nonchalant statement received a greatly exaggerated sigh of impatience. It took all of Whitebeard's mostly spent self-control not to smile when Marco rolled to his side in order to fix him with a properly condemning frown. The world's strongest man very wisely chose to divert his attention to relieving enough pressure behind his palm to facilitate Marco's movement.

"What do you want me to say when I come."

"_What_?"

"Pops, where have you been for the last ten minutes?"

"Whatever do you mean, Marco? I've been right here, of course." With his free hand Whitebeard gently squished the ends of Marco's scowl between thumb and forefinger. "I wasn't at all aware you were in danger of orgas-"

"Have you been paying any attention to what you've been doing with your fingers down here?"

Whitebeard could no longer resist letting a brief but meaningful 'Gurarara' escape his no longer surprised grin as he let his pinky wander down Marco's chest and between his legs before gently lifting him to rest on his own comparably paler (and substantially more massive) torso.

After making the appropriate squawks of indignation and admonishment, Marco settled in, elbows resting on his captain's clavicle and returned his lidded but nevertheless intense eyes to their larger counterparts. The weight of the small stare made it clear to Whitebeard that this issue was far from reaching a droppable position. Marco rose and fell with Whitebeard's sigh of resignation.

"Well, Marco... what have you been saying?"

A flush, well-cached but easily spotted by Whitebeard's experienced eye, crept up the first division commander's neck and quickly conquered his cheeks before Marco was able to mutter, "Where _have_ you been, Pops... haven't you noticed that I always transform just before?"

Surprised, Whitebeard let his head follow his eyes to the ceiling where they lingered deliberately in careful recollection before he returned his attention (with the addition of a head-patting hand) to his still blushing partner.

"In fact, Marco, that had not yet occurred to me, but, upon your mentioning it, it does seem to have been a consistent pattern in our illustrious history of love-making."

"Pops!" The petting hand moved to the slim shoulders as Marco buried his face in his captain's chest. "Why'dyou have to say it like that?"

Whitebeard's eyes widened slightly in mild alarm. "There, there, Marco. It was not my intention to present your habit in an unfavorable light! You know how fond I am of the phoenix..."

This earned enough of a tilt of the head to recover the now accusatory eyes.

"You make it sound like I'm a whole different _being _when I transform..."

"Gurarara!"

Marco propped himself up again, unable to remain embarrassed after the consoling rumble of his father's chuckle. He reached a hand out in search of the infamous mustache and was rewarded with a slight inclination of the head that brought the endlessly amusing feature into range.

He allowed himself a few minutes of wholly absorbed stroking before steering them back to the subject at hand.

"So what should I say?"

"Marco, Marco, Marco... What is so bad about the phoenix? I have no problem-"

"But it - it just doesn't feel right, Dad..." Distracted, Marco let his hand stray and began to trace circles at the corner of Whitebeard's mouth. "It makes me feel less close to you because I..."

"You are a bird," Whitebeard offered grandly.

"Yes, Pops..." Marco half rolled his eyes, smiling fondly in spite of his resistance to Whitebeard's word choice. "I'm a bird."

Again, a sigh rolled beneath Marco's body.

"Well..." the giant of a man let the word draw itself out with gravitas only he could manage. "I see, I see."

A few thunderous heartbeats passed before he continued. "What is wrong with what you always call me? That would seem most appropriate, don't you think?"

"'Pops'?" Marco squinted, trying out the sound with apparently unpromising results. He pulled a face, half concealing it against his father's pleasantly warm skin for a second time. "But everyone calls you 'Pops'... and, besides, you're not just 'Pops' to me, you..."

Some low sounds that may or may not have been actual words were by and large lost on the way from their point of origin- between Marco's mouth and Whitebeard's throat- and their only semi-intended destination: Whitebeard's ears.

"You are mumbling again, my silly bird!" he fairly shouted, inciting a fit of wiggling and a resentful but harmless smack on the cheek. "Gurarara-"

"Daddy! Shh!"

"-rararara!"

Marco ruffled the mustache in vengeance but failed supremely at quelling Whitebeard's humor.

"Hmm. It would seem to me that you are putting entirely too much thought into this and _that_ is the problem, yes?" A gentle finger coaxed Marco's chin up as it threatened to bring the rest of his face into hiding yet again.

Marco set his lips firmly in his most serious of serious expressions.

"Just trust me."

"Trust you?"

"Pops- I'm your second-in-command!" Whitebeard brought his pupils from the heights to which exasperation had driven them in order to focus on the vindictive finger firmly pressed against the tip of his sharp nose. "If you can't trust me, you can't trust anyone!"

"Ah, Marco, Marco!" With both hands he abruptly lifted his accuser and relocated him to the place unintentionally indicated by the condemning fingertip. "There's always my _name_ if you would like."

Marco flopped awkwardly around his captain's facial features as he continued speaking, unperturbed.

"Edward."

"I don't want to feel like your mother sending you to time out!"

"Then Newgate!"

"That makes it sound like I'm shouting your name to the heavens as I swear my eternal revenge!"

"Tsk, tsk! So hard to please!"

With slight nudging, Marco at last found himself on Whitebeard's bandana, chest balanced on the well-defined nose and face hovering over the wide, teasing smile.

"Why do I not simply return us to the point at which you first interjected and find an answer through trial and error?"

"You're too damn frisky to be seventy-two..." Marco's lips were mere millimeters from arresting another renegade 'Gurarara' when the roar of snoring suddenly shattered the comfortable sounds of their world of two.

Whitebeard sat up, carefully shifting Marco to his shoulder in the process.

"It would seem we have an intruder..."

The quiet but nonetheless completely indiscreet rumble cut off as quickly as it had started. Marco's eyes narrowed.

"Aaaace! I'm going to throw your sorry ass overboard!" Before Marco could dismount his perch and reach the door, Ace threw it open, every inch of his expression set to profess his innocence.

"I was just passing by! I swear!"

"Come here, you little-"

"Pops! Pops! I _swear_!" Ace did what any intelligent son of Whitebeard would do and ran to the safety of his father, narrowly escaping what would have been a fatal headlock.

"Now, now! Settle down, Marco!" Whitebeard gathered the would-be combatants up, one in the crook of each arm. He fixed a conspiratorial stare on his flustered first division commander before arranging his features into the most regal of poker faces and turning to his sympathy-seeking second division commander. "It might behoove us, considering the circumstances, to employ our spy in some function other than a punching bag."

Hiding a mischievous smile behind a bow of the head as he sat a now slightly suspicious Ace down, Whitebeard continued. "You see, Ace, we were just discussing..."

* * *

"POPS!"

"Hm. 7 out of 10."

"EDWARD!"

"Oooh. That was like a 4."

"Gurarara! You _do _sound like my mother!"

"DADDY! Oh _god_!"

"Oh, hey, you might be on to something!" Ace turned to address the door his back was resting upon as a series of incomprehensible curses followed the most recent exclamation under the crack and into the (relatively) quiet night. "That was definitely in the 9 out of 10 area."

"I quite agree! That was rather spirited indeed!"

"Oooh, Daddy, don't stop! You're not supposed to be paying attention to him! That's why he's writing it down- _oh_!"

"Right, right..."

Ace chewed on his pencil in concentration as a brief interlude of quiet murmurs and moans began. His intense focus was suddenly shattered by an inquisitive tap on the shoulder. Ace looked up to find a rather confused Haruta staring down at him.

"Um, what are you doing?"

Ace's mouth opened to supply a response that simply was not there. For a moment, Firefist sat frozen before his senses flooded back in through his gaping mouth. Businesslike, Ace raised a hand with one finger held aloft as a signal to wait, set down the pencil, and then gave the door a smart rap.

"Oi, Pops! That am I supposed to say?"


End file.
